Every Shade of Rose Series
by Starla
Summary: s2 Fluff - Buffy doesn't wake up alone after Innocence. (Part Four - May 20th 2002)
1. Aurora

Aurora  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, and Associates own it all. I'm playing in the debris.   
Distribution: Sure. Send me an addy.   
Author's Notes: I'm still writing Climb, I'm just taking a short break to gather strength and ideas.   
Author's Notes 2: This is *completely* un-beta'd mush. It's written solely to cheer myself and certain others up. Half of it probably doesn't even make sense. Oh well.   
Summary: Set right after Surprise, an alternative for the Buffy-wakes-up-alone scene. It's not original, but it's fluffy, and that was the point. It's 'Curse, What Curse?'. Yay. CWC. Also, PWPP (Porn without Plot or Porn.) I don't know what it would be rated, but there's no explicit sex. Just lots of snugglin'. Those crazy kids.   
Feedback: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyes.   
Dedication: For Cav-baby. I've been trying to finish this for ages; It's my answer to the weepy-email. I'm trying to make the pain (slightly) better. Go forth and deny. 

I snuggled into his arms, relishing the feel of cool non-breath against the back of my neck, the brush of velvet-ice lips against my earlobe. 

I giggled and turned in his embrace, sliding my arms around his shoulders and pressing my naked body full length against his, chuckling again when I felt him stir against me. 

"Pervert," I muttered affectionately, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him; you'd think he'd smell like blood, but he doesn't. He smells like hundreds of things I've never seen or tasted or imagined, and hundreds of things that I have. He smells like home. 

"Buffy," he sighed, my name leaving his lips like the most precious song, candy pop and thumping punk and a chorus of angels singing Ode to Joy. 

"Hey," I said, brushing my lips lightly against his in greeting, playing with the fine hairs at the back of his neck. Apparently he liked that, because he closed his eyes and leaned his head back into my fingers, and deep within him, he began to rumble... a real, honest-to-god purr. I never knew he could do that before. 

Amazing the things you find out about a person once they've lain between your thighs. 

I grinned at him, scratching his neck with the tips of my nails. "My big kitty," I smirked, loving my power over him, and his power over me, and the comfort we shared in the silence of the night. 

He opened his eyes and glared at me a little, but I could tell he was trying not to smile. Finally, he grinned at me, a crooked-lipped twinkling-eyed burst of light from the shadows. God, he's adorable when he stops brooding. Or, even when he is brooding. I pretty much adore him through any activity. 

His thumb brushed back and forth across my spine, and I shivered pleasurably. "Angel," I sighed. What is it with us and our names? We're like modern day cave-people. Buffy. Angel. Me Tarzan, You Jane. 

Or, Me Jane. Whatever. 

"Did you have a good birthday, love?" He asked me quietly, and I realised, suddenly, that we'd both been whispering ever since we woke, loathe to shatter the peace we'd been enveloped in. 

"You mean, aside from the whole arm in a box thing?" 

"Aside from that." 

"Well...the part with us was nice." 

"Nice?" 

I grinned at him mischievously, "Well, you know, I gotta give you points for effort." 

The stricken look on his face was enough to send me into a fresh fit of giggles, and I couldn't resist the urge to hug him tightly, lovingly, affectionately. "I love you," I whispered against his neck, and pressed a kiss to the delicious patch of skin just behind his ear. 

He stroked my back with his massive hands, and pulled away to look at me. "Better than nice?" 

"Fishing for compliments?" 

"Fishing for reassurance." 

"Isn't this supposed to be the other way around? Aren't I supposed to be all freaked out, and you're supposed to be like, 'Yeah, it was okay.'?" I asked, pressing my forehead against his. 

Well, he was the one who had done this before, like hundreds of times, with- 

*So* not going down that road. 

He frowned at me, "Okay?" 

I laughed, and kissed him, "Amazing." 

He looked somewhat relieved. "I just... I just don't want you to regret anything." 

I moved my hand to cup his cheek, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Nothing could make me regret that. Nothing." I nuzzled my nose against his. "This is the first time I've ever really felt..." 

I trailed off, unsure how to express myself. 

"What?" he prodded, gazing at me reassuringly, adoringly. 

"Whole." 

A smile spread across his lips, which he brushed over mine. "Me too." 

Ahh. Angel-taste. Yum. I could drown in his skin, I swear. I could wrap myself up in it and wear it to school. 

Except, um, gross. 

I kept kissing him, devouring the salty-lemon-whiskey-sour taste of his skin (If you tell anyone I know what whiskey tastes like, I will deny all knowledge. Just so you know.), taking great gulps of air between kisses, feeling myself drown under a tidal wave of love and lust for him. 

The ringing of the phone dragged me ashore. 

Angel tore his lips away from mine, ignoring my moan of protest. He sat up in the bed, leaning over to snatch the phone from its cradle. 

Pouting, I sat up too, crawling onto his lap and settling there, my knees splayed either side of his hips, my arms settling around his neck. 

"What?" he growled into the phone, capturing my hand and holding it high above my head when I started scratching my nails over his neck and back. He glared at me, and I wriggled on his lap mischievously. 

"Oh," he said, an instant later, looking a little abashed. "Hey, Giles." 

I stiffened for a moment, cos, well, it's like being caught out by your *father*, but then shrugged and went back to irritating Angel as pleasurably as I could manage. 

"No, no," Angel said, "You didn't wake me. I was just, uh, getting out of the shower." 

I grinned at him, rolling my eyes. 

"No, we got out fine," he continued into the phone, "We had some trouble but we got away. We got stuck in the rain." 

Giles must have enquired about my a)well-being and b)whereabouts, because Angel's face took on a look of complete and utter adorable guilt, and he said, "No, she's here. She -" 

I took the phone from him before he could finish, because he really isn't the best liar in the world. "Hey, Giles." 

"Buffy," Giles said, sounding a little flustered. "We thought - well, that something terrible had happened." 

It was my turn to flush with guilt. I'd completely forgotten to check in with the gang. 

Well, I did have other things on my mind... 

I grinned a little and twined my newly released hand around Angel's neck, bringing him close, keeping him close. "Sorry, Giles. I was waiting out the storm here, and I guess I just crashed. Long day, all that." 

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat. "I'm very glad you're okay." 

"Right as rain," I confirmed. 

"And the Judge? Spike and Drusilla?" 

I winced. "You're determined to ruin my day, aren't you?" I grumbled, and Angel tried to hide a grin. 

"Has the judge been-" 

"Yep. The chemical growth formula ken doll is rarin' to go." 

"Pardon me?" 

"Y'know, hideous side effect freaky looking blue guy. That'd be him." I pressed the phone to my shoulder and spoke to Angel. "I bet he looks just *darling* in a taffeta gown." 

Angel pursed his lips together, trying not to laugh. We were really in much too good of a collective mood to deal with the apocalypse. 

Giles was exasperated, though he should be used to me by now. "Buffy, this is quite-" 

"Serious, I know," I sighed. "Sorry." 

Angel pressed a kiss to my shoulder and lifted me off his lap, standing. I eyed his naked body appreciatively, reaching for his hand to pull him back down on the bed with me, but he swatted it away. He wandered over to the dresser, grabbing a pair of sweats and pulling them on. He nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen, then disappeared around the corner. 

Sighing, I reluctantly accepted the fact that our little island of peace had destructed before my eyes. 

"I'll be there soon, Giles," I promised, "Bye." 

As comfortable as I was with Angel, I still blushed as I got out of the big bed and started searching for my clothes. 

I pulled on my underwear and pants, groaning when I saw the massive hole in my twinset. 

My groan turned into a grin when I saw Angel's closet door hanging open, displaying a row of neatly ironed shirts and sweaters. 

With only a momentary thought to whether or not he'd mind, I plucked a brown velvet sweater off a hanger and slipped it over my head, rolling up the sleeves up so that my hands showed through. The thing was massive on me, the neck sliding around on my shoulders, the hem just reaching my knees. On habit, I started to look around for a mirror, then rolled my eyes and headed towards the kitchen. 

I'm really gonna have to bully him into buying a mirror. 

Shoving at my sleeves to try and get them to stay around my wrists, I breezed into the kitchen as if nothing was unusual. 

Angel turned around and handed me a coffee, then stopped short as he took in my ensemble. I looked into my cup, not quite brave enough to meet his eyes. 

He was silent for a few moments, and I have to admit to getting a little nervous. He didn't really seem like to type to be all weird about his clothes - I mean he gave me a leather jacket when we were little more than strangers - but with some people you never know. Like, I know mom gets ultra homicidal when I steal her leather boots. 

The nervousness only lasted for a moment, because then he reached out and drew me against him, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Bit big on you, shorty." 

The same happiness that had been there all morning was present in his voice, and when I lifted my eyes to his, they were twinkling appreciatively. 

"Not my fault you're so beefy," I shot back, standing on my tiptoes to lick his cheek. 

No, I don't mean kiss. I don't mean nuzzle. I mean *lick*. 

He laughed, and I could feel the rumble spreading from his belly to mine. 

Then he licked my cheek in kind. 

I have to admit, I was kinda surprised. In a good way. In a very good way. 

"God, we're devolving," I muttered. 

"Explains the cave-man-like satisfaction I get from seeing you in my clothes," Angel agreed. 

"Cave man, huh?" I repeated, "Could be fun. Big brute, you." 

He laughed again and leaned down to kiss me thoroughly. 

Then he pulled away just slightly, and said, "Don't you have somewhere to be?" 

"Apart from here?" I asked, leaning in to taste the coffee from his lips again, "No." 

He humored me for a moment, starting to kiss me for a moment, but a few seconds into our embrace I noticed that he was shepherding me towards the door. 

When we reached our destination he did an impressive bit of fumbling to get the door open, and turned me around so I was standing in the open doorway. 

His lips left mine, and I glared half-heartedly, "Geez, don't be eager to see the back of me or anything." 

Angel smiled at that and said, "If you don't leave now, you're not leaving. My resolve isn't as strong as you think it is." 

"And there's something wrong with that?" I asked sweetly, then leaned in to kiss him briefly, "I'll see you later. Unless, y'know, the apocalypse comes first." 

Something dark passed over his face, and he reached out and pulled me against him, hugging me fiercely, "Don't even joke about that... I can't..." 

"Hey, sweetie, it's okay," I murmured, sensing something in him. Something scared. "I'll make the monsters go away," I promised. 

"I'm not worried about *me*," he said insistently, "I'm worried about *you*." 

Made sense. I'm always more worried about him than me. We're an awfully protective pair. Protective and stubborn. The two characteristics do not mix well. 

"I'm indestructible," I promised. "I- Well, you know. I'm afraid, but... We'll work something out. We have to." 

I kissed him, once more. We murmured words of love to one another, and then I backed away, letting go of his hand at the last possible moment. 

That was a fortnight ago. I blew up the judge. Got to use a rocket launcher and everything. Xander's idea. Rather impressive. Cordy and he are in some weird S&M 'relationship'. I try not to pry, but I always get a mental picture of Cordy in a long coat and dark glasses preparing for a clandestine meeting with Xander. 

Willow and Oz are the picture of cute. Oz is such a sweetie, I swear. It's about time Willow found some guy who really appreciates her. And Oz does. Completely adores her, in fact. 

I mean, okay, Werewolf, but, you know, it could be worse. He could be a, um, a - well, a something icky. Giles is more up on these things than me. 

Ooh, he could be a demon-in-a-robotic-body. Like Malcolm. I'm glad Willow's taste in men has improved. 

(Says the girl who is sleeping with someone who could be her Great Grandfather to the power of 10.) 

You know, apart from that, Angel's a pretty good catch. There's the eye-candy (hand-candy, mouth-candy) factor, the sweetness, the intelligence, the sense of humour I've recently discovered he has... the comfy clothes at my constant disposal. 

The fact that he's started cooking breakfast for me whenever I stay over, which is fairly often. Mom's starting to think something weird is going on between me and Willow. 

Heh. That's actually kinda funny. 

So, back to Angel, my favourite subject. The past few weeks, for us, has just been... amazing. Really. We talk for hours, and then make love between his sheets... in his shower...kitchen... recliner... that one time in the locker room at school... 

Hey, we're the defenders of the universe. I think we've earned the right to be nymphomaniacs. And if you don't like it, I'll beat you up. 

That whole 'Charmed' philosophy of not using your powers for personal gain? I'm not into that. You should see me playing those Carnival games. Big fun. 'Specially when you see the looks on the not-quite-criminal Carnies' faces. 

So, I'm currently on the way to Angel's for some quality time. Wonderful way to spend my Saturday mornings...and to think I used to sit around watching cartoons. 

I feel incredible when I'm around him; like we're the only people in the universe. Like I could do anything, or be anything, or have anything. 

Like I'm whole. 

The only question now, is : Do I introduce him to my mother? 


	2. Cuts Like Glass

Cuts Like Glass  
Series: 'Every Shade of Rose', the first story of which was 'Aurora'.   
Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters. Think he'll send the goons out after me for usin' 'em?   
Distribution: If you've got my stuff, sure. If not, send me an addy.   
Author's Notes: I just sent out the new part of Climb to be beta'ed. So, yes, I am still writing it. Be patient.   
Feedback: Yes please :) 

Y'know how, when you do something you're not supposed to do, but don't tell your parents, you always feel as if they know anyway? Like, everything they say or do is designed to get you to spill your secret, just so they can have the satisfaction of seeing you grovel. 

You don't know? Well, that's always how I felt with my mother. Lying to her about slaying was...stressful. Lying to her about Angel, was another matter entirely. 

Which is why, one fateful Spring morn, I chose to tell her. Well, not tell her immediately - because calling her up from Angel's to say, 'Hey, mom, I'm lounging around in bed with my undead but astoundingly attractive and intelligent boyfriend, would you like to say "Hi?"' wasn't really a good idea. 

Besides, Angel was doing rather deliciously decadent things to my body, and who'd want to leave that environment? 

So, I chose to tell my mother. In the near future. 

I just hoped Mom wouldn't ground me for like, eternity. 

I mean, I wouldn't want to break that beach date I'd planned with Angel. 

"Mom?" I ventured, putting down my knife and fork and staring at her, my eyes wide, and, with a little luck and like a million hours practicing in front of the mirror, innocent. "Can we... you know, do that mother/daughter non-judgmental bondage thing? Not that I know anything about bondage, that is..." 

Not much, anyway... 

She swallowed her chicken and looked at me expectantly. "Of course, honey." 

Neither of us said anything for a few moments, and Mom started to look at me strangely, "Buffy, when you suggested this foray into communication, I thought you might have a specific topic in mind." 

I picked up my napkin, playing with the paper edges. "I suppose I do." 

More silence. 

Mom groaned at me, "I'm trying to be patient, here, honey, but -" 

"I have a boyfriend," I blurted out, my voice sounding high-pitched and completely wigged to my ears. 

My mother stared at me as if I was nuts, which was fairly understandable. I mean, it's not as if the fact that I have a boyfriend is all that shocking. I started dating when I was still in diapers. 

Finally, she smiled at me, "That's wonderful, Buffy. I'd been wondering if you were going to start dating." Her eyes flickered towards the table, "You haven't been doing that, much, since we moved here." 

Originally because I was waiting around for Angel, and then, later, because I was always *with* Angel. 

"So, to be completely parental, 'Who's the lucky guy?'" 

That's the part I'd been dreading. 

"Um...You've met." 

"We have?" 

"Uh... You remember that guy... Angel??" 

Mom stared blankly at me for a moment, so I offered, "Tall, gorgeous, kinda broody-looking?" 

"Tutoring you in history?" 

"Um... for a little while, I guess," I confirmed. 

"Him?" 

I shrugged, "Yeah." 

"You're dating your teacher," Mom said, sounding a little stunned, and my eyes widened. 

"He's *not* my teacher!" I objected. "He just helped me out a couple times. And - And he stopped, when he thought he was getting too close to me." 

Well, it's sort of true. Only, instead of helping me cram for my history finals, he got slashed in the ribs by a vampire. 

Same diff. 

Mom seemed to be getting over the shock, because she let out a breath, and said, "How long?" 

I shrugged, "It's sort of complicated." 

She looked at me in that way all Mom's have that says 'Don't you even *try* and get away with that one'. 

I sighed and tried, mentally, to count up how much time Angel and I had under our collective belt, before giving up. 

We took 'on again, off again' to the extreme, for a while there. 

"We kissed, last year," I said softly, "Just after you met him... but we didn't really get together til this year... a few months before my birthday, I guess." 

"And you're only just telling me *now*??" 

My lip trembled: the big guns of parent/child warfare. "I thought you'd try and make me stop seeing him." 

Plus, the whole 'He's a vampire thing'. Which still exists... but it's not like I can hide him away forever, is it? 

Actually, the idea of Angel waiting patiently for me in a little dark room is rather attractive. Throw in some chocolate, and that bed of his, and I'm there. 

Mom was chewing on her lip, uncertain. "I... He's older than you." 

Heh. He's older than most people. 

"I know." 

There wasn't really anything else to say, other than that. What was I supposed to do? Deny that he was older? Yeah, that'd fly well. He was twenty-seven when he was turned, and he looks twenty-seven to this day. 

"How old?" 

"Twenty-Four." 

Just because he *looks* twenty-seven, doesn't mean he has to *be* twenty-seven. 

Angel and I talked about me telling Mom about us. He was understandably nervous - he seems to think I inherit my temper from my mother - but was, as usual, completely supportive of my decisions. 

It's nice to know somebody is. Most of my loved ones have this habit of thinking I'm nuts. 

"*Twenty-Four*???" Mom shrieked, and I winced. 

"It's not *that* old, really..." I offered, biting my lip. "Girls mature faster than guys. And... we're happy. Isn't that what you want for me?" 

She gazed at me darkly, "I thought the guilt trip was an exclusive mom-power." 

"Fun for the whole family," I disagree. "C'mon, if it's fair for you, it's fair for me." 

"Buffy...do you... Do you trust him?" 

"He's my best friend," I responded firmly, "I trust him with everything." 

"Everything?" Mom said cautiously, and I stared at her. 

Calmly, "What exactly are you asking, Mom?" 

"Are you -" she stuttered a little, then went on, "Have you slept with him?" 

Gulp. I mean, I knew that was coming, but I'd hoped to avoid it. 

"Yes." 

Resolutely, I kept my eyes on her, not about to convey guilt in any way. I knew she wouldn't like that truth, but that didn't mean I had to regret it. 

I didn't. I couldn't. 

After a long, nerve-wracking pause, she said, "He's 24." 

"We love each other," I shrugged, as if it was that simple, even though I knew it wasn't, and couldn't be. 

"You're 17," she added. 

As if that was supposed to be news to me. 

"In the end, that doesn't really matter," I said softly, thinking of Ethan Reyne, and Spike, and how being old didn't mean you were responsible. "It's never been a problem for us." 

She stared at me, and for the first time, I could see how scared she was. Of what, exactly, I still don't know, but she looked... 

She looked as if I was leaving her. 

"Did he push you into this?" Mom asked suddenly, almost desperately, "Did he pressure you?" 

"No!" I exclaimed, always ready to jump to Angel's defence. "*God* no. It was my choice... I made the first move." 

That seemed to stun her for a moment, and she stared at me with wide eyes. "Were you careful?" 

I blushed a little, then. It's not as if it really mattered, anyway. Angel is pretty much a dead body. A really hot, really lively dead body, but a corpse all the same. I came to terms with that a long time ago. 

Not seeing the point in worrying her, I lied. "Of course." 

"Buffy...," Mom whispered, her voice strangled. "When? Why?" 

"My birthday... It was never even a decision, Mom," I said, after a moment. "It wasn't something I agonized over. It just felt...right. When the moment came... I let it take me. And he made me feel safe, and loved, and... peaceful. Happy. I feel like *we* are something beautiful, and... I wish I could explain this, Mom, but I can't, and I know you're probably disappointed, but *I'm* not. And that's important to me." 

She kept staring at me, and I bit my lip. 

"Mom?" 

"I'm sorry, Buffy, it's just..." her eyes flashed with anger. "You slept with a boy - a *man* - you didn't even see fit to tell me you were dating!" 

"It wasn't that *I* didn't see him fit," I said stubbornly, "It was that I didn't think *you* would see him fit, because you wouldn't be able to look beyond his *age*!" 

"Were *you* able to look beyond the fact that he was a cute boy?" 

"Actually, yes," I growled icily, irritated by her implication that I didn't love him. "I didn't even like him at first. I thought he was annoying." 

That stopped her. "Really?" 

I don't know why she was so interested in that. It was weird. But suddenly, it was like she stopped being turbo-Mom and started being Mom-Mom. I like Mom-Mom better. 

"He was all irritating and mysterious," I said with a small smile, "And wound way too tight." 

"What changed?" 

"I saw behind the cryptic-guy mask," I said, and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. "I love him, Mom." 

She stared at me for a long moment, and then we went to bed. 

The next morning, she made me scrambled eggs for breakfast, and told me to invite him over for dinner. 

It's not as if she's completely cool with it, but she will be. She loves me, and I love him, and she'll learn to live with that. 

Once she realises how much of an art geek he is, I bet she'll even learn to like him. 

Angel's not quite so convinced. He keeps sending me little pleading looks, as if he's begging me to run off to Mexico with him, daughterly duties be damned. 

It's actually quite an attractive prospect. 


	3. My Kind of Regular

My Kind of Regular  
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. Let us all bow to the modern day Zeus. This is unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.   
Distribution: Let me know.   
Rating: PG   
Summary: Buffy and Angel have dinner with Joyce. There's lots of pointless fluff here. I needed a release of tension.   
Author's Notes: I recently moved my personal fic archive, Sciomachy (previously Starla's Galaxy) to a new location, (http://www.liquid2k.com/sciomachy) so just a heads up on that front. Thanks to Fred for giving me notice of a banner free service. Thanks, babe.   
Feedback: Why, of course. I love feedback. 

Sometime between our hello kiss (Which turned out to be a little more than a kiss, because he was in bed, and shirtless, and how could I possibly resist that?) and our farewell for the night, I finally managed to tell Angel the news I'd been avoiding for days. 

"Sweetie," I began, shifting to look at him, rolling over and pretty much lying on top of him to prevent escape. 

"Hm?" 

"You know how... I decided to tell Mom about - " I coughed delicately, "us?" I bit my lip, and said, "Well, I did." 

He gazed at me, obviously waiting for me to continue. When I didn't, he grew visibly nervous. "She- she didn't decide you couldn't see me anymore, did she?" His eye grew wide, "This isn't your way of saying goodbye?" 

"Silly," I laughed and hit him on lightly on the chest, "Even if she *did*, I'm not exactly Momma's Little Angel, am I? I know how to lie to my mother. I've made lying to my mother an *artform*." I smiled sweetly and kissed him gently on the mouth, "Nothing, *nobody*, could make me be without you." 

He grinned at me, full-blown sparkle of lips and teeth and eyes, the kind that never would have graced his face just a few short months ago. "Lucky me." 

"Damn straight, 'lucky you'," I said, biting at his nipple, "Don't call me 'One Girl in All the World' for nothin', buddy." 

"You know, technically, with Kendra-" 

I fixed him with my best 'I am the Jungle Queen' glare. "One. Girl. In. All. The. World." 

He laughed, his fingers caressing my naked back. "I'm pretty sure you were approaching a point before we got sidetracked." 

"I'm *always* approaching a point, but do you ever actually see me get to it?" I said, my eyes twinkling, "where would the fun in that be?" 

I think maybe he could sense that my playfulness was really just a lame attempt at hedging, because he lifted an eyebrow and rubbed my back with his whole palm, gently, soothingly. "Spill, Summers. Is your mother going to have me arrested? Deported? Beaten by your father?" 

"You have to have dinner with us," I said, rather pleased that compared to his suggestions, the truth was kind of a lot less of the bad. 

Kind of. 

Angel surprised me with his response. "Is that all?" 

My eyes widened, and he laughed at me a little, his hand sliding up my back and tangling into my sweaty hair. 

"What do you *mean*, 'Is that all'??" I all but shrieked, "This is a big, scary, *big* deal!" 

"Not really," he shrugged. "I was raised as Irish Nobility in the 18th century," he reminded me, "I can do the polite dinner thing." 

I pouted, "You're supposed to freak out and make me feel like the cool-calm-confident one," I complained. "Ruin my fun." 

"Gee, honey, sorry I'm not a basket case," he said dryly. 

"Bet I could make you a basket case," I challenged. 

"Bet you couldn't." 

"Money where your mouth is?" 

"Easiest money I've ever made." 

"I told her I'd been sleeping with you." 

Hee. Cocky bastard's face went even paler than usual. 

I poked my tongue out at him, then grinned triumphantly. 

"You- you did what? Why would you do that?" 

His eyes were wide. 

"She asked, and I chose to be honest," I said simply. "So, I think someone owes someone an hour long massage." 

Those are the regular stakes in any bets we make. Neither of us particularly minds if we win or lose. 

"Oh, god, she's never going to let you out of her sight," he moaned, his arms tightening around my waist, pulling me up to bury his face in my neck. "She'll try to take you away from me. Or castrate me." His face was going a little green. "I'm not sure which would be worse." 

I mock-pouted, "You'd give me up to prevent castration? Meanie." 

That got a laugh out of him, and I pressed soothing kisses against cheek and chin. "Babe, it's going to be fine. I promise. For one thing, Mom is *pathetic* at wielding a knife. You'd think that as a mother of a Slayer, she'd have some talent, but alas, no. She'd be pathetic at doling out punishment to dirty old men such as yourself." 

"Dirty old man, huh?" Angel huffed. 

"Have to admit you were a bit of a slut, love," I said, my voice light to let him know I was teasing. "Town bicycle. Everyone's had a ride." I paused, flooded with confusion. "Did they even *have* bicycles when you were alive?" 

"Weren't complaining about my sexual expertise earlier," he reminded me, his hands wandering to my hips, resting so close to his. 

"Not complaining about it now," I grinned, "As long as it's reserved for me." 

"Who else?" 

"I love you." 

His smile turned soft, tender, and he cradled me against him, his lips against my face. 

We were silent, for a while, reveling in the languor that had settled over us. 

"Buffy?" 

Quiet voice, cotton-soft in the amber of his apartment. 

"Mm?" 

Kiss pressed to my hair, a hug, huge and soft and satisfying against his hard chest. 

"I'd chose castration over losing you any day." 

-- 

"You're not going to be awful to him, are you, Mom?" I asked, my hands flowing in panicky lines down my dress. "Because then I'd have to hurt you. I'm kinda protective, and - " 

"Buffy," my mother said sternly, steering me away from the mirror, "I promise not to be awful if you promise not to wear holes in your new *expensive* silk skirt." 

Angel had given me kind of a fetish for the feel of silk on skin. 

"Really, mom. He shouldn't have to deal with 'awful'. I mean, it's not his fault I fell in love with him." 

"It's his fault you were lured into his bed." 

"Hey, if *anyone* was lured, it was *him*!" I exclaimed, then blushed bright red. 

Kinda didn't mean to divulge that information. To my mother, of all people. God. Open mouth, insert really embarrassing body part. Good one, Buffy. 

My mother just stared at me, kind of pale, and then said, "Oh." 

I blushed, squirming guiltily. She kept staring at me, and I felt my stomach bottoming out in panic. 

"*Please* don't be awful to him." 

-- 

When Angel rang the bell (a completely new adventure for him, it seems - when I opened the door, he was still gazing at the little white box with interest and confusion, as it played 'Uptown Girl' when pressed) I bolted to the door before my mother could, giving him only a moment to register my presence before kissing him on the cheek and leading him inside. 

"Hi, love," I said softly, squeezing his hand. I looked at my mother, and my voice shook as I said, "Mom, this is Angel." 

"Hello, Angel," Mom said, in that way all moms have that says, 'I know you've done unspeakable things to my daughter and you'll be paying for it in the near future'. 

Maybe it's just my mom that has a way of saying that. 

I rarely see Angel tremble from nervousness, so when I felt his hand quiver a little in mine, I looked at him with wide eyes. Only I could pick up on the fear in his voice when he said, "Good Evening, Mrs Summers," in his most extra-polite fashion. 

Sometimes Angel can be so polite, it's almost bizarre. I remember the first time he ... ((oh, god, oh, god, can't say it))... wentdownonme..., he looked up at me with these wide, hopeful eyes, and said, "May I?", as if I was really going to stop him. 

Trust me, no woman would *ever* want to stop him. 

Ooh, there goes that jealous little monster in me. I swear, just the *thought* makes me... 

Well, it's unspeakable. 

"Buffy tells me that you..." Mom trailed off into awkward silence, and then she laughed, "Actually, she didn't really tell me much about what you do at all. Are you a student?" 

Angel shifted his feet; he hates lying. "I was. Lately I've been doing some... investing." 

"Angel's from old money," I sid, managing to stifle a giggle. He glanced at me, and I caught the microscopic roll of his eyes he sent my way. 

"Oh?" 

"My family were... killed," Angel bit out, and I could see the effort it took for him to say that, "I've been managing the finances since then." 

Thankfully, my mother sensed not to press the whole orphan issue, and said, "What made you leave school?" 

Angel shrugged, "I have no idea." 

Wonderful, Angel. Just great. Come off as a directionless layabout. 

"I think I just decided it wasn't taking me down the road I wanted to go down," he added, and I bit my lip, barely daring to hope, "It felt like I wasn't doing what I should be doing." 

I know it sounds incoherent, but I could tell he was thinking of his pre-Sunnydale days, first as a madman, and then as a bum. 

The thought of Angel living in an alley makes me want to cry. 

"That's very...vague," my mother laughed, and I could tell she was actually warming up to him. "But I think I know what you mean. I felt the same when I left LA with Buffy." 

I guess they both kinda left LA 'with Buffy'. I just didn't know Angel was with me at the time. 

I remember when he told me about the first time he'd seen me. We were lying side by side on his bed, wrapped in sweaty sheets, the air heavy with love and sex and sleep around us. I remember, he smoothed his hand over my brow, and told me about how I gave him hope. How I made him want to protect me. 

How I made him love me. 

I remember curling into his body, and telling him that I love him, and that I was his, and that just the thought of him being with me since the beginning made me feel less alone. 

He made me feel less alone. 

Smiling sweetly up at my lover, I followed my mother into the lounge, tugging Angel along behind me. I sank onto the sofa, snuggling into Angel's side immediately when he joined me. Mom sat in an armchair across from us, and I could see her watching us thoughtfully for a few moments. For a moment, I worried that we were being too couple-y for her, but then I shrugged it off. My newfound philosophy is that honesty is best, wherever possible. 

Of course, telling Mom about my slaying falls into the realm of the impossible. I have to keep reminding myself not to crack jokes about Angel's ... extracurricular activities. 

Actually, that euphimism doesn't fit, because Angel doesn't have any *curricular* activities. 

Oh, forget it. 

We talked with Mom for a while, the fear in Angel's eyes lessening more and more with every passing question. Mom hadn't brought us sleeping together up, and Angel was clearly avoiding the topic. We didn't discuss the fact that I'd hidden him from her for almost a year. It was actually kind of ... nice, in a nerve wracking way. I felt like a normal girl, nervous about her boyfriend meeting her mother, but proud, too, in a way. It felt... regular. 

Only, not. Like, I used to put all this emphasis on being regular, but lately, I've realised that normal is relative. Angel and I were doing something everyone else eventually went through, too, but we didn't change ourselves to do it. I kinda liked that I didn't have to be different for him. 

I like that he's a freak, like me. 

Later, we sat down to dinner (roast chicken and mashed potatoes, with those carrots that taste like honey) and talked about random stuff, and beyond those first few awkward attempts at 'getting to know you' style conversation, there was comfort. 

The scariest thing I've ever seen is Mom and Angel bonding over art. 

'Post-Modernism! Oh, ho, ho, ho. Proto-Renaissance, A, ha, ha, ha. Aren't we arty and intelligent!' 

Okay, so maybe they weren't that bad, but after 20 minutes of sitting there listening to them talk, and still having no idea what they were on about, I started to get a little bored. 

I usually like listening to Angel talk about stuff. We'll curl up together, and he'll tell me all about the places he's been, the things he's seen, or done, or heard or felt. All the stuff I'll never have a chance to experience... but it doesn't matter, because I can live it through him. 

This was different, though, because I felt like I couldn't stop him and ask questions. I felt like I was sitting outside and watching them through a window, or something. Like an outsider. 

The feeling was dispelled, though, when Angel glanced at me mid-sentence, grinned, and reached out to take my hand in his. He held it through the rest of the conversation, and that made me feel... connected, somehow. 

"Angel draws," I managed to tell my mother proudly, remembering the time a few days before when he'd drawn me ((like one of your french girls)) in the nude, and I'd laughed and cracked jokes about how I would have to pay him with sexual favours because I clearly had nowhere to keep a purse. 

Obviously, I didn't mention any of that last part to Mom. 

All in all, I think the dinner went fairly well. Mom even let me leave the house with Angel once it was over, supposedly to join my friends at the Bronze. 

In reality, we went back to Angel's apartment for a nice long massage. 

Only, you know, once he gets his hands on me, we just can't help ourselves. There wasn't much massaging getting done. 

*^*^*^*

"I think she liked you," I told Angel honestly, sweeping my hand over his chest. "Her eyes did this glow-y thing. It was like, 'Thank God, Buffy snagged a boyfriend who isn't a moron!'" 

"You wiled me with your feminine charms," Angel teased. 

"Yeah, well, you wiled my *mother* with your art-nerd-ish ones," I shot back. 

"You think I'm a nerd? I'm wounded." 

"You're a sexy nerd," I grinned up at him. "Like... I don't know. I've never met a nerd as sexy as you before." I nipped at his shoulder, "Of course, I've never met *anyone* as sexy as you before, so that's not really surprising." 

"Likewise." 

"Aww, really?" I said gleefully. "I'm sexy than all your bad girls?" 

"Way sexier," he confirmed. "They're like... Jerry Lewis, to your Dean Martin." 

"I'm Dean Martin?" I grinned, "Why, Angel, I didn't know you were into that kind of thing." 

He groaned and rolled over so I lay beneath him. "Funny." 

"Seriously, I have to be Dean Martin? I can't be like, Marilyn Monroe, or Bette Davis? Or Michelle Pfeiffer? Michelle Pfeiffer is sexy." 

"Okay, then. You're Michelle Pfeiffer," he allows. "Does this mean I get to see you in a patent leather catsuit?" 

I'd made him watch 'Batman Returns' with me the week before. Apparently it'd made an impression. 

"Play your cards right," I breathed seductively, sliding my hands over his shoulders teasingly. 

Trust me, he played his cards *very* right. Remind me to stop by the costume rental place later in the week. 

Meow. 


	4. Never the Same

Title: "Never the Same" 1/1  
Series: Every Shade of Rose #4  
Author: Starla (fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com, throwmywalrus@bored.com)  
Disclaimer: Joss and associates own the Buffy-verse. No infringement   
intended.  
Rating: PG?  
Distribution: Take it, let me know.  
Timeline: Kinda replaces the summer between 'Becoming' and 'Anne', but it's   
all AU from 'Aurora'.  
Summary: In adherence to her parent's joint custody, Buffy visits her   
father.  
Author's Notes: Thanks to Fred for the beta. *mwah*.  
Feedback: Hell yes.  
--  
  
Most people like summer holidays. Summer holidays are like, an excuse to be   
a kid again, beaches and picnics and ((okay, not everything was kid-ly))   
long languid nights with rather interesting companions of the opposite sex.  
  
So, imagine my surprise, when summer rolled around, and all I felt was   
dread.  
  
The problem wasn't, exactly, with summer itself; it wasn't the lack of   
school, or the laughing friends, or the promises of endless days of beach-ly   
goodness; it was the fact that my laughing friends, that my loving sex   
slave, would be here, in one-Starbucks Sunnydale, while I jetted off to L.A   
to stay with a man I felt I barely knew.  
  
Hello, Hank. Want to watch me stake a few vamps? I'm getting awful good -   
you should be proud!  
  
Yeah. Right.  
  
I couldn't exactly tell Dad about my hobbies; I hadn't even told Mom, and   
she had to *live* with the freak show that is me. She saw all the blood, and   
the weird stuff, and she'd shaken Angel's cold-as-stone hand, but never, not   
once, had she gotten the clue that something may be wrong.  
  
If mom didn't, dad *definitely* wouldn't. He didn't know about my weird   
habits; he didn't know about my weird friends.  
  
It felt like he didn't know a damn thing about me at all.  
  
"Go to sleep, woman," Angel groaned, my fidgeting finally getting to him.   
"Some of us have been up since the crack of noon."  
  
I pouted, and rolled over in his arms, gazing at his mostly-slumbering face.   
"I'm not tired."  
  
He pulled me closer, and rolled onto his back so I lay atop his chest. "You   
*must* be tired," he tells me. "We fought *twelve* vampires tonight - and   
then had our *own* fun. *Three times*. How can you not be tired?"  
  
"Slayer," I explained with a shrug. "Part of me is still waiting for a   
fight."  
  
He cracked one eye open, arching his brow. "You're not still convinced I was   
flirting with the gum girl, are you?"  
  
"You were *totally* flirting with the gum girl!" I exclaimed, my train of   
thought veering recklessly all over the tracks. "You were all mysterious and   
sexy, and she was all come-hither gum cracking! Don't tell me that wasn't a   
blatant come on."  
  
"Because lime green Hubba-Bubba is just so seductive."  
  
"Are you saying I'm paranoid?"  
  
"You're cute when you're paranoid," he told me, all curving lips and   
rumbling laughter.  
  
Aww. That's so sweet I could almost forgive him for calling me paranoid.  
  
"I am not!" I snap. "Well, I mean, I am cute, but I am *not* paranoid.   
Danger lurks around every corner, buddy!"  
  
"The gum girl is a danger now?"  
  
"I don't know, you tell me!" I pretty much shrieked, feeling something   
giving way in my chest.  
  
"This isn't about the gum girl, is it?" my lover asked patiently, finally   
awake, finally completely and utterly devoted to sorting out me and my   
neuroses. His fingers hook under my chin. "Buffy?"  
  
Caught out.  
  
"I don't want to go away," I told him, my lip trembling as it had months   
ago, standing on the docks when I refused to believe that he was really   
going to get on that freighter and glide away from me.  
  
Of course, he didn't, so that moment in no way makes this one any easier.  
  
His hand moved to my head and started sifting through my rumpled hair,   
weaving in and sliding out, joining, separating, twisting and tangling.  
  
My god, I can make anything sound like sex, these days.  
  
"I don't want you to go away either," Angel told me, and I pressed my   
forehead against his, "but maybe it'll be good for you."  
  
"Good for me? How could being away from my friends and family and *sacred   
duty* possibly be good for me? How could being away from *you* be good for   
me?"  
  
He pulled himself into a sitting position, dislodging me a little from his   
chest. I moved away a little, and sat there, staring at him, some dim,   
insecure part of me waiting for him to start in on a diatribe about the   
proverbial 'space'. Like, you know, the 'Honey, I think we need some'   
variety.  
  
I tried not to be so negative, because Angel has done nothing to make me   
believe he might want space. I mean, he cleared out half his dresser for me,   
and when he goes shopping, he buys bottles of my brand of shampoo, and if I   
go out and sit on the sofa, I know that my favourite fleecy blanket will be   
within arm's reach of my favourite curling position.  
  
In fact, if I go out and sit on the sofa, *Angel* will be within arm's reach   
of my favourite curling position.  
  
"Well, you've got some issues with LA that you never really deal with," he   
reminded me. "Maybe it'd be healthier if you sorted out all the crap that   
happened there."  
  
"It's over, though," I shrugged. "*So* over. The 'relationships' there?   
Irreparable. Not even worth trying."  
  
"What about your father? Don't you want to try with him?"  
  
"I don't *know* him, Angel!" I cried, feeling my hands start to shake. "The   
girl he knows *died* the second she felt her first taste of vampire dust on   
her skin. I don't want to *be* that girl anymore, and even if I did, I   
wouldn't have the foggiest of how to go about it."  
  
His hands, large and smooth and infinitely gentle, covered mine, easing   
their shaking. "So introduce him to the new Buffy. Let him get to know her."  
  
I looked at our hands. "What if he doesn't like her?"  
  
A moment's silence, and then I heard Angel's sigh. "Then he's a moron. A big   
one."  
  
I was drawn into my lover's arms, where I nestled and felt safe. When I   
woke, I felt only marginally better about my trip to see my father than I   
had the night before.  
  
--  
  
Our goodbye, a few days later, was predictably tearful, and when I pressed   
myself close to him, I panicked, worrying that I'd never see him again, that   
he'd die some bloody, painful death without me sobbing by his side.  
  
Sometimes it's hard to remember that he's 250 years old and doesn't need me   
to protect him.  
  
We parted at his apartment, and it nearly killed me to think about how long   
it would be before I saw him again. "I love you," I said, and I kissed him,   
a kiss that would be forced to fuel my dreams for months to come.  
  
"I love you," he promised, his voice thick with longing and devotion and   
missing-you-already, and then I was out the door, moving into the thick   
summer sun.  
  
Every step was not-Angel, not-Angel, not-Angel.  
  
--  
  
"This all you got, honey?"  
  
I stared at my father with barely concealed resentment, and nodded, because,   
honestly, he'd just packed my three stuffed to bursting point suitcases in   
his SVU ((And what does he need an SVU for, anyway? Mid-life crisis meets   
90's excess, much?)) and how much more could one girl possibly need? Even   
*this* girl? As it was, one of my cases was half full of weapons, and I'd   
only put them in as an afterthought.  
  
"Yes," I said, and smiled weakly at him. "Just don't pack like I used to, I   
guess."  
  
The bus station we stood before was quiet, the mid-morning rush having all   
but died away. When I stepped off the coach that had brought me here from   
Sunnydale, I'd half expected not to see my father, but there he was, dirty   
blonde hair and big remembered hands and all. He'd hugged me, and I'd tried   
not to freeze up at his touch.  
  
Since then, everything had been all tickets and baggage, and I'd barely had   
to say a word to him.  
  
I stepped into his mid-life crisis on wheels, and fiddled with the radio,   
quickly discovering that Dad had invested in a CD player. I felt a sudden   
longing for some nice, loud, don't-have-to-talk-to-your-father rock, and   
took out a compilation I'd stolen from Xander months before.  
  
I turned the volume up, and barely said boo to my father for the rest of the   
drive.  
  
--  
  
On the drive back to my father's new apartment, we passed the house I lived   
in for 15 years of my life. In the front yard, there used to be a tree, but   
that was gone, now, and I felt my heart twist painfully for a moment. I know   
I told Angel that I didn't want that girl back - and, in extension, that I   
didn't want that life back - but, sometimes, I falter. I can't help it.   
Sometimes I long for sunshine and laughter and simple, simple, simple.  
  
There were orange curtains hanging in my window. *Orange*. What if they had   
replaced my flawless blue wallpaper with some seventies-vibed monstrosity?   
What if the picture window in the kitchen had been knocked out and, in it's   
place, there was a gross stained glass window?  
  
All that meant we could never go back. And, though I'd known it for a long   
time, this new confirmation twisted at my heart.  
  
Sometimes, I just want to be young again.  
  
--  
  
My Dad's new apartment was very guy-like, and that irked me a little. It was   
all grey, or black, with big leather chairs and a massive television, and   
everything was sharp and new and not at all Buffy-like. It made me long for   
Angel's secluded little cave, with his comfy couches and maroon curtains,   
with sculptures and paintings and that little bit of age.  
  
Dad's apartment... it seemed more like an office. Large. Impersonal.  
  
It made me sad, and, in a bit of a panic, I looked around, searching for   
something - *anything* - that would indicate an actual person living in this   
bleak ocean of grey.  
  
My heart slowed as I saw a bunch of photos on the mantle - I counted four of   
me - and a few magazines on the coffee table, and a discarded mug sitting on   
top of the stereo.  
  
Little things, but they were enough. The photos, especially, warmed my heart   
just that little bit I needed to be able to speak to him again.  
  
"You really haven't scrimped on the colour, have you?" I said brightly,   
rubbing my hands before me as if they were getting chills from the entire   
*lack* of rainbow.  
  
"I haven't had much time to decorate," my father told me, flustered, and I   
could see how nervous he was. "I've been working a lot."  
  
"Oh," I said, as if that surprised me. My father has always worked a lot. My   
father is like Giles, only minus the dusty books and demons, and plus a wife   
and child.  
  
"I wanted to have a few weeks off," he added. "While you were here."  
  
Okay, *that* surprised me. Floored me, even. "Huh?"  
  
"I-" he stopped, and smiled tightly. "I wanted to spend some time with my   
daughter."  
  
I bit my tongue to stop the scathing retort bubbling up inside of me,   
recognizing that he was trying, making a genuine effort. I thought of   
Willow, who lived with her parents, but rarely saw them, and of Xander, who   
had more contact with his uncle than his own dad.  
  
I thought of Angel, who never felt loved by his father his whole life.  
  
"That'd be nice," I said finally, and then looked away, out the window at   
the Los Angeles smog. One thing about Sunnydale: clearest air you'll ever   
find. It's almost as if the Hellmouth acts as a giant air purifier.  
  
"So where am I sleeping?" I asked my dad, eyeing a large sofa suspiciously.   
I *hate* pull-out couches. If there's one place I refuse to sleep, it's a   
pull-out couch, with those metal contraptions designed to scrape your arms   
in the middle of the night, and those lumpy sections where the bars stick   
through, and the absolute *refusal* of the damn things to let you sleep in   
any sort of a comfortable position.  
  
"There's a room," Dad said, relaxing a little, because he knew that this was   
good news to me. "It's a little bare, but maybe we could - work on it.   
Together."  
  
I felt like I was living in some weird dream, and that any moment Dad's head   
was going to turn into a pineapple. Or maybe a tangerine. I wasn't too clear   
on that part.  
  
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  
"Okay," I said, shrugging.  
  
It's not that my Dad has ever really *neglected* me, or anything. When we're   
both in the same vicinity? He's big on the Buffy-love. It's just that since   
I moved to Sunnydale, I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen   
him. It makes me sad, because, really, he can be kind of cool. I know he   
loves me. Sometimes, though, I wonder just how much.  
  
Blood of his blood, but how much does that really mean to him?  
  
"How have you been?" I asked, following him into the room that was,   
apparently, mine.  
  
"Like I said, busy," he said. "Yourself?"  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"Still having problems with that teacher? What's his name?"  
  
"Snyder," I told him, my nose wrinkling with distaste. "And, yes, there's   
much of the trouble. I believe the term is 'impotent little Nazi'."  
  
My father smirked at me, and I felt my heart tugging for days gone past.   
"And I'm sure you've done nothing to warrant such a frosty relationship."  
  
"Me? I'm the picture of innocence!"  
  
When you get in a spot, deny, deny, deny.  
  
"Uh-huh," he replied, and I knew he was remembering getting a phone call   
from the police, telling him that his daughter had engaged in a little funky   
pyromania.  
  
"I *am*," I whined. "He's out to get me."  
  
My father laughed, then, and it felt wonderful.  
  
I felt forgiven.  
  
I hugged him, quickly, nervously, and said, "It's good to be here, dad."  
  
And it was. Except I missed Willow, and I missed Xander, and the Dingoes   
were playing at the Bronze that night, and Cordelia was throwing a pool   
party, and just about every part of me wanted to double-check the likelihood   
of apocalypse with Giles.  
  
I won't even get into how much I missed Angel.  
  
Oh, okay, if you insist. I missed his hands, and his laugh, and those   
ever-twinkling eyes. I missed crawling into his bed after patrol, and I   
missed his shower, full of steam and soap and naked-Angel. I longed for his   
voice, and his kindness. I wanted to feel his lips against mine.  
  
I just wanted him, full stop. We'd been kind of hip-like, lately, as in   
joined-at-the, and not seeing him, not hearing him, not sharing with him,   
was making me itchy. I missed him so much it felt like a constant drum in my   
chest.  
  
My father smiled at me, though, glad to have me in his life, and I felt like   
maybe the sacrifice was worth it, if I could get him to understand the new   
me.  
  
As if it was that simple.  
  
I looked around the room, taking in the big, clean window, and the double   
bed, and the soft grey carpet beneath my feet. I could work this room; I   
could make it Buffy-like, a home away from home, a place where I could meet   
my Dad and still be me.  
  
I could meld my life with his, a little.  
  
I mean, I had three months of not-Angel, not-Angel, not-Angel to spend. What   
better way than sharing a little of myself with the man that used to mean   
the world to me?  
  
If Dad could make an effort, so could I. I mean, rebuilding relationships   
wasn't really my forte, but if I could hold the world together, prevent   
apocalypse, and fight massive demon foes every night, this should be easy,   
right?  
  
Deny, deny, deny. 


End file.
